


The Black Shorts of Sex

by jujubeans



Series: Swimming: small experiments on avoidance, by Sherlock Holmes. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Coy Sherlock, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sweet Talking, Very BAMFy army John, dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bugger The Purple Shirt, The Black Shorts are here!  And what is THAT poking out of them?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Shorts of Sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> I lay this offering at the feet of the great AtlinMerrick. May you recognise a few of your little quirks and phrases as the compliments they are intended and not as theft! I hope to one day, with lots of practice, write half as well as you. Couldn't resist the cheese and rimming... but not together - that would just be weird! Big love from DownUnder.

“Sherlock Holmes get your beautiful arse out here. Right now!”

“But John-"

“Don’t ‘But John’ me! I am tired of waiting out here. I’m cold and, quite frankly, starting to look weird lurking around in a change room in a pair of trunks with nowhere to go so, please. We’ve been through this again and again, and you agreed to come-"

“Only under sufferance, John.”

“-here so that we can improve the chances of you surviving the next time The Work finds you spluttering around somewhere between the surface and the depths of The Thames. I will not watch you almost drown one more time. Now come out of that change room before I come in there and drag you out.”

Sherlock had a bit of a think about that. John had been working on him for weeks to take swimming lessons and no amount of distraction (with naked bits) or cajoling (with tongues) or negotiation (with pouting) had swayed John from his path. So here they were at the local leisure centre. But Sherlock was not a Holmes for nothing. He still had one more trick up his sleeve.

“Ah, John… I’m almost ready, but I think there’s a thread hanging down on my bathers. It’s annoying my sensitive skin. You know how sensitive my skin is, John. Can you come in and remove it for me? Please.”

John sensed something afoot. Sherlock asked way too prettily, and since when did he start saying ‘please’ unless he was begging in the throes of passion? He probably had some cockamamie plan he thought would distract John. Well his little sweetmeat had much to learn. John took a deep breath and steeled himself before pushing open the door and coming to an abrupt stop.

“Oh. My. Bloody. God.”

There stood Sherlock, twisting around as if he was actually concerned about the thread hanging from the back of his bathers whilst another, more pressing issue was in evidence at the front.

“John? What’s wrong?” His little love had the gall to blink innocently at him, unfortunately to no effect as John’s gaze was distinctly southward.

John’s mouth hung fully open. No sound emerged. A fly might have flown by.

“John? John!”

“Unhg”. The curious fly did another lap past John’s gaping mouth.

Sherlock sensed his sleeve may have contained a bigger trick than he originally thought. He was starting to deduce he’d shorted-out John’s brain. Time for a re-boot, perhaps. He put on his best coy look lowered his head and fluttered a lash.

“John, do you think my bum looks big in these?”

The fly decided the cavern of John’s mouth looked good enough for a summer holiday and tried to touch down on John’s bottom lip. “Spth! Ugh. Bloody hell, Sherlock. What in god’s name do you think you’re playing at?!”

“What do you mean, John?” This said with raised brow and a perfect pout.

“Don’t try to be bloody demure with me! You know exactly what I mean. Those shorts, they’re… they- they’re… "

“They’re what, John?”

“They’re not covering all of you!”

Sherlock looked down innocently, swivelling his head this way and that, making out like his cock wasn’t hanging about three inches down past the bottom hem of the black silky shorts. “What aren’t they covering, John?”

“Your fucking cock, Sherlock! Your beautiful, gorgeous piece of man meat, my graceful little swan. It is hanging down the leg of those utterly improper shorts and you know it”.  John still stared, transfixed, at the offending appendage poking out of its aperture.

Sherlock tried his very best to look shocked, but he knew from the look on John’s face that the game was up. They both also knew Sherlock wouldn’t be going out to his lesson today. The trick was played and Sherlock was about to drag in the winnings. He swiftly morphed his shock into a look of seduction, lowered his voice to a rumble and raised his hands to John’s shoulders, gently pushing him down like the unfortunate victim of a stage hypnotist. “Just how much is hanging down, John? Perhaps you can tuck it in for me?”

John, still in a man meat trance, obediently went to his knees like a zombie zeroing in on brains. “Exactly where would you like me to tuck it, Sherlock? I mean, these pants just aren’t meant for a man of your dimensions and certainly not for swimming in. Where on earth did you get them?”

“Ahh I can’t… somewhere in the back of my wardrobe?” It had taken Sherlock three shopping trips to find exactly what he wanted, finally unearthing the silky shorty shorts in La Perla. Going by the flushed look on John’s face and heavy mouth breathing, it was worth all the unwanted attention he got from various sales boys along the way and one very pushy matronly assistant who looked like she’d eat him for breakfast (in fact, she offered to). “John, I can feel you breathing on me. It’s having an effect on my modesty.”

John finally tore his gaze away at this outrageous falsehood. “Sherlock, you _have_ no modesty. That’s why you’ve come half-way across the city dressed in underwear masquerading as bathers, two sizes too small, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to attend class in them. You know, I should make you go out there in them. I should make you walk out there and get in that pool with the others with your cock hanging out your pants. The only thing stopping me is the fact that the rest of the class are children, and we’d be arrested. And I’m pretty sure we can’t count on Mycroft to bail us out after that last thing with the turtles... and the cheese.”

John’s gaze dropped again. There was now an extra visible inch. His eyebrows rose and his eyeballs glazed over. “Although we did have fun in the cell, as I recall… " John’s voice drifted away…

Seemingly of its own accord, John’s hand raised to Sherlock’s knee, sliding up slowly towards his thigh. One finger stretched towards the head of Sherlock’s rosy cock which was visible now that the foreskin had retracted, and rubbed the slick pre-cum around the slit hypnotically. Ever so slowly John bent closer to the silky black shorts until his nose was buried in Sherlock’s crotch. He breathed deeply and nuzzled his nose around letting the silky fabric caress Sherlock’s balls. John heard a loud gasp. It was enough to snap him out of his stupor. He smiled quietly into Sherlock’s groin and swiftly decided to take charge. John marshalled his thoughts and devised a plan. To demonstrate just who was leading the proceedings now, John **_paused_**.

Sometimes John has trouble getting his little dumpling to communicate with him during sex. Sometimes Sherlock’s brain has trouble shutting down for pleasure. Over time John has formulated _ways_ of dealing with this. One of those ways is to get Sherlock all lovely and riled up, and then just, well, _waiting_ for Sherlock’s words to come. Sherlock’s training in this was coming along nicely. It didn’t take too long today. No more than about nine seconds.

“John.”

“Mmmm?” _nuzzle nuzzle pause_

“Um, I think… well, I know… Ah, would you consider…?”

John let his sticky finger drag up a few inches of Sherlock, whilst simultaneously biting through the fabric to gently but firmly gather some scrotum between his teeth. Another gasp. _Pause…Four, five, six_ \- “John… ”

“Mmmmm?” John shook his head like a dog trying to wrestle away a bone and gave a little growl.

“Ack! Ah, even though I’ve been very bad, trying to get out of swimming lessons, would you consider bending me over and fucking my arse right now because I think I’m going to have trouble walking if you don’t and I’ll promise to come back next week if you do. Please, John. Please. Will you, John. Please? Ugh.”

Whilst begging Sherlock had started gripping John’s head and thrusting against his face and to tell the truth, John couldn’t take much more of his sweetie’s gripping and thrusting without wanting to jump him, so it was no skin off his nose to surrender to Sherlock’s request. Without standing up John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and spun him about face. He slid his thumbs into the waistband of the little black shorts and dragged them down to just below the crease of Sherlock’s buttocks. John indulged one of his cutie’s little kinks and employed his best army voice, “Bend forward and put your hands on the wall, Sherlock. Now.” Sherlock shivered all over and immediately complied. “Do you want me to lick your arse? Do you want to feel my tongue in your hole, Sherlock? Or should I spank that naughty arse for all the time it’s wasted today?” **_Pause._** “Answer me!”

Startled, Sherlock jumped and wiggled said arse in John’s face. John nearly passed out from its juicy, bouncy perfection.

“Your tongue,” Sherlock felt faint, “please, I want your tongue in me”.

John placed his hands reverently on those luscious globes and gently pressed his thumbs inward to spread Sherlock’s cheeks revealing the sweet pucker within. Again John paused, this time just to reflect and let his brain absorb all that he was thankful for. How on earth was he lucky enough to be here in this tiny cubicle with this lanky angel, being momentarily in command of said angel no less? John thanked someone for small mercies, then stopped musing and like the good tiny tyrant we know he is, he _stormed into action_.

He removed one hand to suck on a finger and ever so lightly swirl it around Sherlock’s blushing rosebud. Groaning came from both men. “Sshhh!” John warned, although he wasn’t sure which one of them he was telling. With both hands back in place John leant forward into battle, and dragged a tongue from the back of Sherlock’s balls all the way up the crack of his arse. This elicited such a moan John did it again. And again. He returned to the pucker and swirled his tongue into the hole spiralling deeper with each turn about the rim until the tip of his tongue was fully into Sherlock by a good inch. A loud moan carried across the echo-y change room. “ _Sherlock!”_ John hissed. “Take the towel and stuff some of it into your mouth, for god’s sake”. Sherlock docilely did as he was told.

John returned to the action at the front line. He could see Sherlock was nice and relaxed now and he was able to slip his tongue back in quite easily and wiggle. He spread Sherlock’s cheeks even wider and made a seal around the pucker with his lips and _sucked. Lusciously_. _Slickly,_ whilst simultaneously swirling his tongue around and around inside the vacuum. Sherlock started panting and thrashing and squealing into the towel. John had trouble staying with him as his arse jiggled and wriggled against his face but he attacked Sherlock’s hips in a pincer move and relentlessly drove his tongue forward, never giving quarter.

“John,” _pant pant pant_ “I need… please-" The towel must have been removed.

“’Please’ what, Sherlock?” John hummed against his arse, continuing to plunge.

“Ooh. I need you to fuck me, NOW”.

Negotiation time. “Hmmm.” _Swirl lick plunge swirl_ “Are you going to come to class next week?”

“Yes John! I will. I promise”

_Swirl SUCK plunge retreat plunge retreat swirl_ “Are you going to come appropriately attired?”

“YES! I’ll wear whatever you-“ _pant pant_ “-ugh tell me to wear, John. I’ll wear arm bands if you want!”

John leaves a goodly amount of spit on Sherlock’s hole and presses in a finger. “So we’re clear on this?” John asks in a low voice, eyes never leaving their mission . “If I fuck you now, next Tuesday you’re going to voluntarily leave the flat, without whining, with bathers I deem appropriate, and travel across town to attend a swimming lesson so that I don’t have to worry about you drowning next time you decide to jump in The Thames, hmmm?” John removed his finger and whilst watching the target carefully, pressed in two.

“Yes! Oh god, yes, John. That’s sooo good. “ The fingers slowly retreated. “WAIT! Yes, I promise to come next week. All that. Everything you said. And goggles or… flippers. Snorkels??” Sherlock twisted to look angelically over his shoulder at John.

John had to draw on all his reserves not to smile. He rose to his feet and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s Cupid’s bow. He finally grinned and Sherlock allowed himself to look relieved. John nudged Sherlock’s head to the side so he could nuzzle that glorious length of neck giving it a good long lick and a suck, drawing blood to the surface. They both had a little kink for this. They quite enjoyed marking each other territorially. It was fucking HOT. Sherlock groaned languorously, his head hanging forward.

John bent to push the offending shorts all the way off and removed his own trunks. He kicked them away and gave his cock a few swift strokes. “Sherlock, turn around and suck me” he ordered. “Make me nice and wet”. Sherlock dropped to his knees and deep-throated John. So desperate was his need he pushed right to the root. Worried for his sweetie’s throat, John retreated slightly but Sherlock grunted and followed, producing copious strings of saliva.

John dragged him up, kissed his dazed lips and gently turned him around positioning his hands for him against the tiled wall. He nudged one of Sherlock’s feet to widen his stance and pulled back on his hips. “Thrust that delectable arse out for me, Sherlock” he growled into Sherlock’s ear. John could feel goosebumps rise along Sherlock’s spine. He ran a hand down his back a few times to gentle him a bit before gripping his own cock with one hand and sliding his other up Sherlock’s neck and around and over his mouth. “You must be quiet while I’m fucking your arse, my sweet. If anyone comes in we’ll be chucked out before you get off and we don’t want that, do we.” Sherlock obediently nodded then shook his head under John’s hand.

John leant forward and laid a quick peck on Sherlock’s cheek before drawing slightly back to peer down at his own cock clutched in his hand. He marked time around Sherlock's entrance, ringing the pucker with his swollen head before marching slowly forward until seated to the hilt.

He stilled momentarily. “Is everything OK, my love?” Sherlock nodded vigorously and pushed back against the invasion. John groaned softly into Sherlock’s ear.  Soft, dark curls tickled his nose as he drifted it along that acreage of neck.

“I’m going to fuck you fast and hard now, Sherlock”, he murmured. “And I’m not going to stop until I fuck my come into you. Then I’m going to suck that stunning cock until you gift me every drop you’ve got.” John skimmed a hand up Sherlock’s stomach and across his chest. “Then, my tall tasty cake, I’m going to pull up those tiny little silky black shorts you so stupidly brought here to taunt me with, and I’m going to take your hand and make you walk home naked but for them under your Belstaff, with your cock hanging out the front and my come dripping out the back.” Sherlock trembled against John’s chest and his fingers clawed at the wall. John didn’t think either of them could get much more wound up.

So after rallying the troops, John resettled his stance, allowed Sherlock a few quick breaths before slipping his hand back over his mouth and FUCKED. HARD. And as our John is a man of his word he did exactly what he said, fucking and slamming and grinding and sucking Sherlock dry. And as Sherlock stood in that cubicle looking bewildered and well-fucked, John lovingly pressed his lips to dazed ones, gently bent down and threaded Sherlock’s feet into those tiny black shorts. He stood there as docile as a lamb as John pulled them up his thighs, eased his arms into his Belstaff, threaded his fingers through his and then followed John out of the centre and across town without a single murmur.

It took Sherlock only two days, six catalogues and three live frogs before formulating a plan for next Tuesday.


End file.
